


As If From a Dream

by rei_c



Series: Dreams [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3698540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it's over, when Peter's seething and his tie is crooked, his shirt stained and torn beyond recognition, the four of them sit down and wait for the train. Lucy feels useless and hates it, especially when Peter starts ranting. He's right in one sense, they haven't always been kids, but Edmund's right to say there's nothing they can do about it now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As If From a Dream

Lucy hears it first, the muttering behind her, then sees the looks. She hears them say Peter's name over and over like they've been waiting for a show and a good one's finally arrived. Her heart sinks and she doesn't even bother going to look before she runs for Susan.

Her sister's at the magazine stand, like normal, and talking to a boy, which isn't. Still, Susan runs just as fast as Lucy for the underground, right into a thick crowd of students from every school in the area.

All Lucy can do is stand and watch in horror. It's been ages since Narnia and she doesn't have her dagger -- not that she would ever use it on children -- or her cordial. Her fingers twitch at her hip, the pouch where her bottle of fire-flower juice _should_ be, and watches. She's not sure if she'd give Peter any even if she had it, not sure if he deserves it. Guilt piles on thick with that brief admission; Lucy wonders what Aslan would say, whether she's being selfish again or perfectly within her rights to refuse after this, what feels like the thousandth time Peter's gotten himself into a fight.

"It's no good," Susan mutters. "He's not paying enough attention. Look, there's an opening and he's wasted it." Lucy turns to look at her sister and instead of seeing Susan Pevensie, Lucy sees Susan the Gentle, Queen of Narnia. Susan's arm lifts, searching for a bow and arrow, then falls back to her side as the queen Lucy has always looked up to disappears into the face of a weary and tired schoolgirl. "What the High King has become," Susan murmurs.

Lucy opens her mouth to say something, anything, but Edmund comes barrelling down the steps, pushing everyone out of the way and leaping on the bully closest to him. Lucy shouts her brother's name but Edmund doesn't stop. His joining-in improves the odds slightly but there are more of _them_ and Peter's out of control, too emotional, too angry.

Peter gets free of the tall one who had been pressing him against the tiled wall, just barely and only to be kicked to the floor again. Edmund's not doing much better and Lucy wants to scream at the stupidity of it all. Peter causing fights and Edmund coming to his brother's rescue -- it's something that's been happening more and more ever since they came back from Narnia, like Peter's become this massive raging _creature_ and Edmund's the calm one, for once. Edmund the Just, Aslan named him, and if the shine's been fading off of Peter's magnificence, Edmund's fiercely embraced his own title.

When it's over, when Peter's seething and his tie is crooked, his shirt stained and torn beyond recognition, the four of them sit down and wait for the train. Lucy feels useless and hates it, especially when Peter starts ranting. He's right in one sense, they haven't always been kids, but Edmund's right to say there's nothing they can do about it now. 

The four of them spent decades in Narnia and then got pushed back to Britain as if they'd never left. Professor Kirke understood but it's not as if they can tell anyone else. Sometimes Lucy thinks Peter isn't meant to keep secrets and that's why he's acting like this. Susan isn't dealing well with it either, though, closing herself up and off, the opposite of Peter but just as destructive. Lucy wants to tell them to just _believe_ but she knows neither of them will listen to her. 

Edmund glances at Lucy, Peter's empty seat a gulf between them. He rolls his eyes, just a quick flicker up, and Lucy has to duck her head to hide a smile just as fleeting.

\--

Seeing Cair Paravel like this, in ruins, would normally be enough to make Lucy cry. She's back, though, back in Narnia, and she knows, _knows_ , that she'll see Aslan soon. He'll make everything better, she knows he will.

At least the ruins have held up enough to hide the door to their treasury, though the wood's rotted and cracks under Peter's fingers. Lucy follows Susan, Edmund leading them down into darkness. There's no telling what might be down there waiting for them, if anything's still there or if it's all been emptied and taken, but there's enough light coming down through holes in the ground and reflecting off of gold to see it's just as they left it the morning they went hunting.

Lucy stops and stares, hardly believing it, but then runs after the rest of her family, then to her chest. She opens it, holds back a cry of absolute relief at seeing the bottle of fire-flower juice. All the Narnians she's healed with the contents of this present and it's still safe, still here. She grips the bottle tightly, then puts it to one side, touching the fabrics of her favourite dresses.

"I was so tall," she says, heaving out a dress, holding it up to her frame, taking in the long sleeves and the full flow of the skirt. It feels like a dream but one vivid enough to be real. Lucy looks up, sees Susan smile a _real_ smile for the first time in a year, and laughs at Edmund's retort.

Her smile fades, seeing Peter stare at his statue. It's like she can see Peter the Magnificent's humour lost somewhere under Peter Pevensie's anger. Lucy gets chills and doesn't know why.

"When Aslan bears his teeth," Peter says, drawing his sword and studying the inscription like he's forgotten how the letters flow, "winter meets its death."

Lucy steps forward, halfway between tears and laughter. "When he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again." She stands there, holding Peter's gaze, until she sees her own realisation reflected in his eyes. "Everyone we knew," she says.

She holds back her tears as best she can and Peter takes charge like its a right and not a gift. He and Susan take their clothes and head for the stairway, for darkness and privacy, but when Edmund picks up his and turns to follow, Lucy says, "Edmund?" It's not that she wants to be left alone, she doesn't mind that here in Narnia, but she's been worried about Peter for ages and now Susan's oscillating too fast to leave Lucy anything but dizzy.

Edmund, though. Edmund's steady. He always has been since the White Witch relinquished her claim on him. He's never said a word about what happened when he left the Beavers, the time between his running away and his rescue, but he doesn't have to. Ever since then, Lucy's understood Edmund and he's always been there for her.

He doesn't say a word, just gives her a smile and says, "I won't look," with a sparkle in his eyes. Narnian air's good for the soul and Edmund always loved Cair Paravel the way that Susan liked to travel and Peter preferred the open fields, the way that Lucy spent more time in the woods than anywhere else.

He turns and Lucy does the same, holding the dress to her chest once again, this time with a sigh. Edmund laughs but Lucy's the one laughing a minute later when she can hear him hopping, muttering at his trousers. Once dressed to the best of her abilities, Lucy says, "Edmund? I can't get the ties in the back."

"You always had trouble with those," he mutters but comes to help her. He tugs and Lucy lets out an exhale, swaying with the force of his pulling. "Don't know why you always insisted on them, especially after the first time you came home with them all torn and ratted up after playing with the dryads."

"It wasn't my fault," she argues back, and the familiarity of it has her smiling.

Edmund laughs. "You always say that." His fingers are light against her skin. 

Lucy shivers, looks over her shoulder as best she can. "I know I'm small," she grumbles, "but you don't have to be so gentle with me."

"I know," Edmund replies. A smile plays on the corners of his lips. "You always say that, too."

\--

During the swordfight with Trumpkin, Edmund looks over when she laughs. His grin is infectious and Lucy finds herself eased after Trumpkin's initial attack. It has been some time, even if they've done their best to stay in fighting condition. Edmund's enjoying this, has always been better at duels than Peter, has always loved the elegance and simplicity, man against -- dwarf, in this case, only skill and ingenuity a match for stubbornness and passion.

Watching Edmund duel has always been harrowing but has always been Narnian, in a way. Savage but full of joy, beautiful to watch but deadly as well. Edmund's never had to fight to prove himself but he has killed in battle and he has almost died in battle to protect others. That shows in every swing of the blade, in every steel clang of metal against metal, in the way Edmund pants for breath when Trumpkin collapses to the sand in shock.

Lucy wants to run to Edmund, throw her arms around his neck and throw her head back to the sky, to laugh in delight, to be as wild and fierce and free as Edmund looks in this moment, as Aslan always is. But then Trumpkin mentions the horn and Edmund looks at Susan, eyes narrowed against the sun. Lucy's heart thumps in her chest.

\--

The trees are so still, so silent. It's taken hours to get used to it and she still thinks she can hear them sometimes, echoes of themselves. Either she's going crazy or -- no, she isn't going crazy. They pause for breath and Lucy rests her hand on an old oak tree, listening as hard as she can. She thinks she almost hears something but then Peter's talking, and Trumpkin, and Susan's filling the air with her worry. They're all too loud; Lucy can't hear a thing.

Edmund places a hand on her shoulder, stands next to her and strokes down the tree's bark. Lucy's eyes follow the trail of his fingers, callused and ink-stained, nails ragged, palm still red from relearning the grip of his sword.

"I can't hear them," he says. "Can you?"

Lucy looks at him, shakes her head. "Sometimes I think I can. But they're all sleeping. Trumpkin," she says, then falters. "Our dear little friend's right. They're so deep inside, I think all I hear are their dreams. And that bear, there wasn't _anything_." She pauses. "Ed, what Trumpkin said about Aslan. Why do you think he hasn't come back to help them? Was it. Was it us?"

She turns to look at him and barely catches the glitter of pain in his eyes before he hides it from her. Edmund's grip on her shoulder tightens then relaxes and he smooths out the fabric wrinkles on her shoulder. "Come on," he says, letting his hand fall from the tree, rest on the pommel of his sword. "We'll find Aslan and he'll explain. Not that he owes us one, but." Edmund takes a deep breath. "We'll find him, Lu. Don't worry."

They leave, follow Peter and listen to Trumpkin muttering that they're going the wrong way, and when the group of them are staring across a gorge with no bridge, Lucy sees him. _Aslan_. Peter doesn't believe her, Trumpkin thinks she's lost her mind, and Susan's not saying a word.

Edmund is the only one who believes her. Edmund didn't see Aslan but he believes that Lucy did. He glosses over what happened the last time, between their game of hide and seek, the lies, the White Witch and the treachery, but Lucy knows what it took for her brother to speak up when it would be far easier to simply follow Peter's lead.

Susan turns with Peter, no hesitation, and the dwarf leaves as well. Edmund waits with her, for her. Lucy knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if she tried to cross this chasm, Edmund would help her. She looks back across the gorge, searching for Aslan. She turns to Edmund and when he tilts his head in question, she leaves a piece of her heart there, on the edge of the cliff, and follows the High King. Her only consolation, the greater part of her guilt, is that Edmund is right behind her. 

\--

She finds a way across the river. It's taken days out of their travel but the ground collapses under her feet and there's a natural stairway carved into the rock. Going down is tricky, going up even more so, and the rocks between the two, covered with water that doesn't dance or sing, are slippery. Trumpkin steadies her and Edmund helps her climb.

By the time they find a clearing to sleep in, their clothes are almost dry and they're all aching. Trumpkin starts a fire and Lucy wanders off a little way when the dwarf and her two older siblings start talking about Narnia and her history, about what Trumpkin's been witness to the past week.

"Not too far, Lu!" Peter calls out. Before Lucy can say anything in reply, she hears Edmund's voice, then hears footsteps.

"I don't need a minder," Lucy says, far too amused to sound snappish as Edmund peers 'round a tree.

He grins, steps out entirely, and gets close enough to tug at the small plait holding back a fraction of her hair. Lucy yelps, ducks out from under him and whirls away, holding on to an ash for support. "I know," Edmund says. His eyes are warm and kind. "But maybe I do."

The tree under Lucy's hands is silent and cold but, as Edmund draws near, takes her hand, Lucy can smell summer in the air.

Aslan is coming.


End file.
